drunk on the thought of you
by loganes
Summary: James is looking at him kind of expectantly, question silent on his lips, and Logan grins even if that's not what he wants to be doing, can't even think about what he really wants to be doing.


**Disclaimer**: I don't own Big Time Rush. Title taken from Usher's song Scream.

**Author's Notes**: Mostly because Logan went out and partied in South America. Naturally, I took that idea and ran with it. This is RPS.

* * *

They're finished with the North American portion of their tour, and by the time they play their first show in South America, Logan is past ready to have a drink and let off some steam. Being outside of the United States (and, really, Canada _barely_ counts) is strange, sometimes, gives him this warped sense of freedom and recklessness that isn't real but feels it.

The hotel's fine; Logan doesn't actually pay much attention to the places they stay, one blending into the next with each new tour date. A hotel's a hotel, and it's not like they're ever going to stay anywhere even close to a dump. Either way, Brazil's new and unfamiliar and Logan's almost sick of touring. Almost. Not sick of the band, just—tired and wound up at the same time. Kendall catches him jiggling his leg with a hand placed on his knee, stilling the movement. Logan shrugs, smirks a little. It's not midnight yet, and they're just chilling in their hotel room for now, breathing through the adrenaline rush that comes with every show. (Logan hopes that never goes away.)

"Fuck it. I'm going out," James says suddenly from his left, where he's sitting on the floor with Fox. "Anyone coming?"

"Yep," Logan says immediately, standing fast with pent up energy. He glances back to Kendall, then Carlos. "You wanna?"

Kendall shakes his head.

"Nah," Carlos says. "I'm wiped. Call if you get into any shit. Actually, don't," he laughs. Logan flips him off and follows James out the door.

Brazil is full of beautiful women. They pass numerous on their way to a nearby bar, but most don't recognize them or don't care. They have to stop a few times to take pictures with fans, but it doesn't take long, and it's just par for the course at this point.

Soon as they're inside, Logan heads to the bar, James close at his back. He's not great at Portuguese; James is better, and they manage to order a line of shots. The bar is dim and hot and sweaty, and it doesn't feel like home at all.

James grins wide and sloppy at him without a single drink and Logan hides a shiver, nothing new. It's no secret that he loves sex with attractive people but he's pretty sure it wouldn't turn out all that great if anyone found out just how badly he wants James' mouth on his dick or the other way around. Whatever, like, Logan's used to it by now, and even if he's feeling a little more dangerous than usual he's doing okay.

"Cheers," James says, low, and hands Logan a shot.

"Bottoms up," Logan answers.

They down three in a row, wincing a little because this shit is strong, and then take three more each. For the first time Logan wonders why he's out with James and not by himself. Out of the four of them, Logan's the most likely to get drunk and make a fool of himself, and James will opt to stay in. He shrugs it away. Doesn't really matter. He's glad James is with him.

"Yikes," James grimaces, and Logan lets out a short laugh.

"Who even says that anymore?"

"Me. I do. Learn to love it," James declares, then orders them a drink called a _caipirinha_.

"Fuck. They know how to make a drink," Logan says after taking a gulp. Too much too soon. On a mostly empty stomach, the shots are hitting him fast. Logan can tell James is feeling it, too, careless grin spread across his lips, the slight way he's relaxed into himself that anyone else wouldn't have noticed but that Logan can see clear and easy.

"Let's just…not go back."

"To the hotel?" Logan raises an eyebrow.

"To America," James snickers, hot exhale close enough to hit Logan's cheek, and, God, he needs to find a girl.

"Yeah, sure, why not," Logan says as he scans the crowd, the dance floor. "Because I'm actually bilingual and I've been hiding it from you all this time." Logan swallows down the rest of his drink. He's well past drunk at this point, and he places a hand on James' arm, ignores the way the muscles flex beneath his hold. "Gonna…" he starts to say, trails off because James' forehead is glistening a little with sweat, eyes bright, _fuck_.

Logan licks his lips as James says, "Gonna what?" and forces himself to snap the fuck out of it. It's Brazil, and they're not alone, and this is not okay.

(And what does he think would happen, anyway, if they were alone? Nothing. Nothing.)

James is looking at him kind of expectantly, question silent on his lips, and Logan grins even if that's not what he wants to be doing, can't even _think_ about what he wants to be doing. "Gonna dance," he decides. Going to find some hot Latin American ass to grind up against, some girl he can't talk to, some girl who can take the edge off the way James can't.

(Because James doesn't even know. He probably should; Logan's kind of selfish and it's hard not to at least try, impossible not to want. He can't help looking at James onstage, knows it's probably clear all over his face, but that can be written off easy as exhilaration, adrenaline, from performing. For his part, James has always been generous with his touches, whether they're at a meet-and-greet and he's got his arms too-close around Logan, or they're playing video games, side of his leg pressed up against Logan's in the worst kind of tease while they chirp each other about nothing. James sucks at trash talk when he's trying to concentrate. Logan might be a little in love. Whatever. He gets by.)

"Sure," James says, and Logan doesn't hear the way his voice tenses on the word because he's already moving toward the dance floor, stepping drunk but controlled. As soon as he's there, a pretty brunette with a thick ass and nice tits slides her arms around his neck. He smirks, hand on her lower back to pull her into him as he gets a leg between hers and just feels.

The music's club music of a Brazilian variant, and he's good enough at dancing now that he never loses the beat despite how drunk he is. The girl's thigh is nudged close against his dick as they grind, and his breath catches in his throat as she rakes her nails along the back of his neck.

Logan lets out a breath and lifts her face to his, and just as he swipes his tongue over her bottom lip he feels someone press up against him from behind. It's a guy, he can feel that damn well, taller than he is, and Logan is so far past giving a shit about who he gets sex from; the girl doesn't seem to care so Logan just drops his head back, eyes closed as the girl sucks marks onto his neck and the guy guides his hips with strong hands.

He's halfway to thinking maybe he could get this chick to suck him off while the guy fucks him when he hears, "Enjoying yourself?" low in his ear, and, what the _fuck_—

He steps away from the girl, sends a quick "sorry" in her direction though she probably can't hear him or understand him, and turns to see James looking absolutely destroyed.

Logan's too drunk for this, he knows that. Also maybe not drunk enough. "What," he starts, stops when James shakes his head slowly. His hair's pushed back sweaty from his forehead, the way Logan likes it best, and he's looking at Logan like—

"Fuck," Logan says, and, yeah, because people could've seen, could still see, and Logan just wants the length of James' body hard against his again. If they weren't here, if they weren't drunk, this wouldn't be happening, Logan thinks. Which is sad and possibly a lie except for how being here makes him feel like he can get away with anything. Maybe James feels it too, gets it because he understands Logan better than anyone Logan's ever known.

Logan can't take his eyes away from James. His body's too hot, making him dizzy, and he can't take that step forward but can't step away either. James looks like he wants to say something, and then someone who's clearly drunker than either of them falls into James from behind. Logan's reaching out to steady him before he knows what he's doing, and as soon as his hands make contact with James' shoulders he knows he isn't going to be able to let go. His head is spinning from the alcohol (and maybe also from the fact that James isn't moving away) and, okay, it's not his fault that he slides a hand behind James' sweaty neck to steady himself. Also not his fault when James presses them together with a hand at the small of his back, strong fingers digging in with purpose. Neither of them has said anything, really, and even if Logan could possibly find the words he's not sure he could get them out. James leans in, then, and Logan's mouth goes dry, but James' lips end up at his ear instead. He tells himself the disappointment is relief.

"I don't know what it is," James says hot against his cheek, "but I couldn't stop myself right now even if I tried. So," he pauses, licking his lips and shifting his body closer minutely, "just—let me know you want this too."

No one else would be able to catch it, but Logan can hear the cautious tremor in James' voice, like he's actually worried Logan's going to say he doesn't.

Thinking back, Logan's kissed plenty of other guys before, but he's never kissed his best friend. It could be a really shit idea. In fact, it probably is, were he sober enough to take the time to think about it, but he's so drunk and he's wanted this too badly for too long and he's a hedonist if there ever was one.

So. Logan ignores everything, ignores the risk (maybe does it because of the risk, it's always hard to tell with him) and shoves his mouth against James', fingers sliding up to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck.

Motionless for all of two seconds, James groans into the kiss, running his tongue over Logan's bottom lip before slipping it into Logan's mouth liquor-wet and dirty-hot.

Logan's so fucking dizzy from it, can't do anything but kiss back and hold on. James is grinding his body against Logan's in the best way, getting a leg between is for a better angle, and Logan pushes into it, just wanting that friction knowing it's coming from James. He's so hard and he can feel James' dick pressed against his upper thigh, and, god, Logan really wants to feel more of that.

James shudders as Logan bites his lip and shifts his hips up just right, breaking from the kiss with a gasp and dropping his head to rest against Logan's. He has the mind to glance around, but no one's paying attention to them. They might, though, if Logan starts blowing James right here, and that's going to happen real fucking soon if they don't get somewhere else in, like, two minutes or less.

"James," he pants, tugging on James shirt in the vague direction of the bathroom. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, alcohol weighting it, but luckily James catches his meaning and just turns Logan around with his hands, guiding him toward the back of the club.

The minute it takes them to reach the bathroom is slow and hazy. Logan's acutely aware of James at his back, nerves on edge with what he knows is about to happen, and for the first time he wishes he wasn't so drunk. Then James is manhandling him into the bathroom and locking the door behind them, and once he gets Logan up against the opposite wall he can't think about much of anything, can only feel.

James' hands are under his shirt, teasing his skin, and Logan whimpers, getting his own hand around James so he can push their hips together. James' fingers stutter in their movements and Logan does it again, slicking his tongue into James' mouth as their hips slot together hot and needy.

His thoughts are just a slurred stream of _James, James, James,_ and he doesn't realize he's saying it out loud until James' mouth is pressed to his jaw, saying, "Shh, Logan, I got you, I got you man."

Before Logan can form any kind of response to that (because god his voice his hoarse and drunk and Logan would do horrible things to hear James say his name like that again) James is kneeling on the grimy floor of the bathroom, fingers fumbling with Logan's pants.

Breath hitching in his throat, Logan can't even bring himself to help, just watches James, who is on his fucking _knees_ for Logan right now, and—

"James. James," he says, to get his attention, "have you ever done this before? With a guy?" He tacks on, in case that wasn't clear. He's drunk, okay.

James sucks in a breath, shakes his head slowly as his cheeks flush redder. Logan's kind of weirdly pleased, though; he feels like James would have told him—he certainly tells James—and it's good to have that trust reaffirmed, made stronger.

"I want to, though," James says, looking up at him, and Logan laughs once, too sharp because he's aching at the thought of getting his dick in James' mouth but for all that he wants to just shove his pants down and fuck James' mouth, he knows this is more important than some nameless dick, even if they are in the bathroom of a club.

"Yeah?" Logan asks, and if he's a little breathless he blames it on the dancing.

"Yeah," James says, stronger, slow grin spreading over his lips. "Yeah, I really fucking do."

Without waiting for an answer, James finally gets Logan's pants undone and pulls them down with his boxers almost to his knees. Logan has to give it to James, because there's not much hesitation there for a guy who's never had a dick this close to his face before, and Logan is really hard and, if he's being honest, pretty sizable.

"Fuck," James breathes out, then takes Logan's dick in his hand and strokes it once, twice.

Logan can't look away, couldn't if he tried, because that is James' hand, on his dick, and it's a little tentative but so, so good. His heart is trying to hammer its way out of his chest and he licks his lips at the same time James does, and that's always been a turn on for him (so goddamn inconvenient, too, since James does it all the time) but it's a thousand times better now that it's just for him.

"James," Logan says, not exactly sure what he's asking for.

"I got you," James says again. His grip tightens around Logan's dick as he strokes one more time, and Logan can't really breathe as James licks over the leaking head of his dick. It's taking a lot of willpower not to just let go and shove past James' lips, but then James does take him into his mouth, as much as he can, and _fuck_.

Logan thrusts forward a little, can't help himself, and James gags but just takes it anyway, and it's so fucking hot.

James's mouth is sloppy and there's no finesse and it's the best blowjob Logan's ever had.

He curls his fingers in James's hair, soft moan falling past his lips, and James groans around him, jacking where his mouth can't reach. Logan can't drag his eyes away from James, who's swirling his tongue around the head of his cock, sweet hot pressure that's so good but not enough.

"God, yeah," he groans, fingers twitching as James hollows his cheeks, takes him deeper and then pulls back, tonguing at the slit.

There's a second where they're just looking at each other, caught in this, and Logan has never quite known just how fucked he is for James until now. Then he shudders out a breath and pulls James up by the shirt, because he knows exactly what he wants and it isn't just James's mouth.

"Fuck me," he says, half a slur, as James starts to question. "Just want you in me."

James's eyes darken and then he's licking desperate into his mouth. Logan goes with it, head knocking back against the wall as he draws James in again. He can barely breathe from how bad he wants this, and he whimpers into the kiss, biting James's lip. "James, I want, need you to fuck me."

James curses under his breath, bringing a hand up to rest on Logan's jaw, just shy of forceful. "Yeah—yeah. But, no condom," he says in a rush. Logan shakes his head.

"Don't care. You know I'm clean. Been kind of fucked over you for, like, a long time," Logan mutters. His filter's pretty much shot, apparently, but whatever, he barely has much of one to begin with.

"Christ," James breathes. "Fuck, yes."

James kisses him as he shoves his pants down to his ankles, kisses him as he strokes Logan slow and teasing.

"James—"

"You're gonna have to help me through it, man, I don't really know what I'm doing here," James admits, cheeks flushed and eyes down.

Logan smirks. "Suck," he says, two fingers in front of James's lips. He can almost feel James's breath hitch. He fights a groan as James slicks his tongue around both fingers, sucking harder than necessary before letting them slip out with a wet pop.

Logan keeps his eyes on James as he leans back a little and reaches behind himself, skating both fingers around his entrance, hesitant for all of two seconds before he gets impatient again and presses them in. He's done this before and doesn't waste time, watching James through hooded eyes as he opens himself up. It burns, with just spit, but he's too drunk to care, has wanted this for way too long, and James is looking at him like, like he's never wanted anything more, and Logan is completely on board with that. He works his fingers for another minute, stretching quick, and then he's turning to face the fall, hands braced against it.

He doesn't bother hiding his shudder when James closes in behind him, lips ghost-light against the back of his neck.

"Logan," James whispers, voice so fucking needy, and lines up his cock at Logan's hole, slicked with spit and nothing else.

"Come the fuck on," Logan hisses, and he should've known James would more than deliver, because James shoves in fully with one hard thrust. They both groan as James bottoms out and Logan gets a hand on his dick, squeezing himself around the base because as it is there's no way he's going to last. He opens his eyes to James's hand covering his on the wall, tendons in his arm straining.

"You good," James forces out, and Logan can barely form words, just nods, finally gasps out a, "yeah, yeah, move."

James pulls back and thrusts back in, and, fuck, of course the angle's fucking perfect.

Logan drops his head, pushing back into James's hips as he fucks into him. "Jesus," he gasps, shuddering as James slams into him again, just as rough as he wants it. James is breathing hard, openmouthed at Logan's shoulder, and it's so hot. He moans whenever James's dick rubs over his prostate, wrenched broken sounds that he can't control at all. He nearly loses it when James wraps a shaking hand around his dick, slow strokes base to tip.

"Fuck, James, I'm so fucking close, you feel so good," he babbles, almost incoherent.

James doesn't answer, just tightens his hand around Logan's dick and rolls his hips up, thrusting in time with his hand. Logan bites the back of his hand to muffle the sound that comes out of his mouth, but James yanks his head back, manages, "let me fucking hear you, Logan." That's all it takes and Logan's coming harder than he has in his goddamn life, vision blurred and black as ropes of come paint James's hand and the bathroom wall. He's clenching around James, who's fucking him through it, and then James's hips stutter, head dropping to Logan's shoulder as he rides out his orgasm.

Logan's got his head against his arm, trying to catch his breath. He can barely feel his legs but he can feel when James pulls out. He's still drunk, but in a different way, more clear-headed than before; it's that weird half-drunk stage that usually comes much later in the night, when he's that close to sobering up. He doesn't move, waiting for James to dictate where they go from here, because, fuck, but he wants this again, wants this all the time now that he's had it once.

James doesn't move away, and Logan's not sure what he was expecting but it's not for James to press in close again, arms circling Logan's waist.

"James," he says, voice hoarse and muffled against his skin, but he thinks James can hear him. The club music's just starting to filter in to him, again.

"Mmmph."

"We should, uh. Move?" Logan suggests. It's the last thing he wants to do, but they've been in the bathroom for probably longer than they should have.

James makes some noncommittal noise against his shoulder, and then straightens, pulling Logan with him and turning him. Again, there's a dragged out moment where Logan can't look away but can't say anything, either. James breaks it by kissing him, slow and lazy now but still hungry, and if Logan was questioning any of this he isn't anymore.

Logan starts laughing, then, because he's just been fucked like this has been building for a long time, for the both of them, and who would've fucking thought.

"What," James says, eyebrow raised.

"So, like, why Brazil?" Logan snickers, hiking his pants back up and zipping them.

James smirks, then shrugs, expression growing more serious. "I don't even know, man. I didn't really think—I mean, ever, who knows if…fuck. I don't know. Something about this place, I swear," he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Logan rolls his eyes and steps up into his space, slipping his hand around the back of James's neck. "It's okay, I get it."

"Yeah. Figured you would," James says, flushing a little.

"Soooo," Logan hedges, because it's not awkward right now, but it could be, and he needs to know what's going to happen. They're still on tour, they have another season to film, and he just needs this to…to be okay.

"So," James says, "obviously this is mutual, and, well, I didn't just want a fuck. Okay?"

And Logan's so fucking grateful that James can say that kind of shit out loud. Maybe it's a maturity thing, whatever. He can dig it.

"Yeah," he says, grin spreading across his lips despite himself. "Okay."

The club's just as hot and sweaty as it had been earlier, no different, nothing changed. James is walking too-close, again, and Logan's probably wearing the hugest I-just-had-sex smirk, and he doesn't give a _fuck_.

They don't talk as they make their way through the crowd, unspoken agreement to head back at this point. They've got a show the next day, anyway, and it's past three in the morning.

"Are we gonna tell them?" Logan wonders aloud, shoulder nudging at James's as they walk back to the hotel.

"We probably should." Logan feels James shrug against him.

"You can handle that," he says immediately, squawking (in a dignified manner, okay, it's not his fault he's still kind of high on life) as James shoves him into a puddle. "These are my favorite shoes!"

"Don't be a chick about it."

"Don't be an assfuck."

"I think we both know who _that_ is, between the two of us," James smirks.

"You, next time," Logan mutters darkly, like he hadn't enjoyed every fucking second.

"That's not really a threat," James says snarkily.

Logan has to kind of trip over himself to catch up with James's giraffe legs, but he's grinning anyway.


End file.
